


No White Clouds 1/? - Jensen/Misha in 'A Walk In The Clouds'

by loveinadoorway



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, RPS Fusion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2009-08-16
Updated: 2009-08-16
Packaged: 2017-10-21 22:33:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/230585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loveinadoorway/pseuds/loveinadoorway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A man fresh from the war ends up trying to help a stranger who needs to convince his family to accept his sexual orientation.  Set in Napa Valley, of course, as the film was, but taken to present day USA. And that, of course, is only one of many liberties I am having to take with the storyline.</p><p>EDIT 29.06.2015: This story will not be continued and will remain unfinished!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _**No White Clouds 1/? - Jensen/Misha in 'A Walk In The Clouds'**_  
>  **THIS IS NOT COMPLETED!**  
>  **Disclaimer:** These are SO not Jensen, Misha, Jared, etc., but totally fictitious characters. Which I don't own. As I don't own A Walk In The Clouds. But I borrow them with tender care. Title taken from the Strange Fruit song used in the movie Strange Days, which this way ended up on the list as the next movie to be retold. *sighs* My mind is weird that way.  
>  **Rating:** NC-17  
>  **Genre:** slash, RPS by a stretch of the imagination  
>  **Word Count:** ~1154 so far  
>  **Characters/Pairings:** Jensen Sutton/Misha Aragon, Jared Alvarez, Don Jeffrey Dean Aragon  
>  **Warnings:** nothing yet, but coming up: kink, slash, language, booze, the lot.  
>  **Summary:** A man fresh from the war ends up trying to help a stranger who needs to convince his family to accept his sexual orientation.  Set in Napa Valley, of course, as the film was, but taken to present day USA. And that, of course, is only one of many liberties I am having to take with the storyline.

**Author’s much too personal note of utter discomfort:** I love this film and one of the reasons I do is a very emotional and private one. I’ve decided to share it regardless, because quite frankly it may taint my opinion of this film to a degree where nobody but me can understand why I love it so much and why on earth I have to go and do this shit to it.My maternal grandfather had Alzheimer’s. I don’t know if any of you understand what that really means. How it feels to loose someone you love while his body is still around. It went on for years and in the end, his fighter’s heart, his boxer’s condition dragged out the inevitable to a point where it became agony to watch as he lay in bed, basically a vegetable, suffering from decubitus, smell of decay heavy in the room. This nightmare was what I carried around for years.

Until the day I watched this movie. Until the scene where Anthony Quinn eats the fucking chocolate. That was my grandpa to a tee. He loved sweets and he had the same mischievous charm as Quinn had in this movie. I bawled for hours, but from that day on, I had my grandpa back. The man with the high moral and ethical standards, the loving caretaker of my childhood who showed me the magic of anthills and lakes, the person I have loved the most in the world.  
And for that thing, silly or pathetic as it may sound, I love this movie even more than for the full-on, unabashed schmoopishness. I love the ever loving fuck out of Anthony Quinn for being so much like my grandpa that it hurts, but in a good way.  
Why am I telling you all this? Well, you can diss my writing, berate me for being a perv, whatever, just please spare me nastiness about this movie, because I <3 it and it means so much to me.

I wouldn't have known how to write believable post-WWII dialogue, so I transferred the setting to the present day.

If I were a better writer than I am, I would dispense with the tradition of keeping at least the first names of the actors in place, so that everybody knows that I am pathetically trying to write Jensen acting out Keanu’s role.

 **Neither of these people are intended to represent the real life persons, they are as fictitious to me as Dean, Sam and Castiel are.**  
And that to me is a very important distinction.  
The frayed tatters of my sanity depend on it.

\---------------------------

__  
No White Clouds  


**Chapter One**

As he walked towards the Greyhound station, his duffel bag hefted up to one shoulder, he willed himself not to think about everything that happened since he came back from Iraq.  
If he did, his hands would start shaking again and he would be asking whichever fucked up deity ruled his fate why he just couldn’t have gotten himself killed.  
Why that goddamned bullet had missed not only the heart, but also the lung, the spleen and every fucking vital artery on its scorching path through his body was a mystery to him and a major miracle to the MASH surgeon who got it out.

Jensen Sutton was not a complex man at heart.  
All he had wanted was to serve his country in the best way he could and then return to his beautiful wife and have a white picket fence around a neat suburban home, kids and maybe a dog or two.  
All that had gone crashing to ruins when he opened the door to the small, ratty apartment they lived in, fresh from the plane and his cheery “honey, I’m home” died a horrible death on his lips as he found his wife in bed with some unknown dickhead.  
He still didn’t know if he should be grateful for having been put on an earlier flight out of Iraq so he could see the woman as she was or if he might not have been able to continue life as he knew it in blissful ignorance  for a few more years had he come home the coming Thursday, as planned.  
He had just turned on his heel and walked out, knowing full well that had he stayed and argued, he probably would have gotten into a fight with the dickhead and in all likelihood would have killed him.

Jensen tossed his duffle into the luggage compartment of the Greyhound.  
He didn’t even know where he was heading.  
His attempts at landing a job had all petered out to nothingness, until he finally managed to secure a job as a travelling salesman. He kept his samples close, wouldn’t do to have ants or roaches touch the expensive and exotic chocolates in their little briefcase. They had told him to be wearing his uniform when he knocked on people’s doors, the dress uniform with the Purple Heart and all. Who could resist a war hero, right? Only, there were no heroes in this war.  
He looked around at his fellow travelers. They were a nondescript assortment of people either scared of flying, like him, going to destinations too small to merit an airport or unable to afford a plane ticket.

The only person who stuck out was a dark-haired guy, roughly around Jensen’s age, with what had to be the world’s worst dress sense.  
They had bumped into each other as Jensen walked back from the luggage compartment and the man had walked forward to put his own suitcase into it. He had gotten a glimpse of startling blue eyes, set in a handsome face that looked as thoroughly fucked up and hopeless as Jensen felt.  
Startlingly enough, one look at the other man’s serious, drawn mouth had made Jensen wish he could place a smile there.  
So he’d smirked at the guy despite himself, but only got a small, nervous, tight kind of nod in return.

Jensen found a seat towards the middle of the bus.  
He squeezed into the window seat, longing to see green landscapes rush by, instead of arid plains and desert sand.  
As the bus pulled out of the station, someone plunked down in the seat next to him. Jensen didn’t even look over, he just kept his eyes glued to the scenes outside. He needed to constantly be certain that he was indeed finally home and safe.  
He willed himself to keep his mind anchored in the here and now.  
Under no circumstances could he allow himself to relax enough to sleep on the bus, because the danger of having the nightmare again was too great. And he was definitely unsafe to be around when he had that dream.

“You’re, uh, ex military, aren’t you?”  
Jensen turned around to look at his neighbor. It was the man with the blue eyes. Weird way to begin a conversation.  Usually, people at least tossed a perfunctory and patently false ‘hi, how are you doing?’ in at the beginning.  
“I, uh, noticed the way you carry yourself.”  
“Yeah.” Jensen said in a tone that he hoped conveyed the notion that he didn’t wish to have a conversation. Apparently, the guy was tone deaf.  
“I, uh..,” he fidgeted in his seat. “I am going to see my parents. They have a vineyard in Napa Valley.” He made fluttery, descriptive motions with his hands as he spoke and somehow reminded Jensen of a nervous bird. Well, as if he should have wings of some sort at least.  
“Nice.” Jensen let the tone drop another notch. Nope, definitely tone deaf there.  
“I have to tell them that I am not going to marry the girl they chose for me. Kinda medieval notion of them, don’t you think?”  
“Huh.”

Another attempt at the tone that had had recruits quiver in their boots. Sounded like there was nothing wrong with Jensen’s intonation, but that he would just have to accept that the skinny guy with the bad hair day was fiercely determined to keep chatting with him.  
“Her parents own the neighboring vineyard and to my parents, it’s like a business fusion deal with the added fringe benefit of making me marry a nice, Catholic, Mexican-American girl like they think I should.”  
“Medieval as well as dumb. Never gonna work out.” Jensen ground out, as apparently some reaction on his part was once more required and blue eyes wouldn’t let up in any case. The guy always did a quirky little head tilt whenever he seemed to require feedback, again reminding Jensen of birds.  
“Exactly. Especially since I’m, uh, you know, gay.”  
Great. Just great. Couldn’t the guy have picked a sympathetic elderly lady for this confession? Awkward much?  
“Which they don’t know yet.”  
Even better.

“Knowing them, actually, they won’t even believe me. They’ll think it’s all just an elaborate ploy not to have to marry Anna.” The guy sighed and put his splayed hands against the back of the seat in front of him.  
“My father keeps talking about bloodlines and family history and how he’ll kill anyone who defiles the family honor. Doesn’t get any more defiley in my dad’s eye than being homosexual.”  
Jensen felt a bit sorry for him.  
Nervous as he was, his parents probably were truly terrifying people.  
“Yeah, uh, parents can be really difficult, I’ve heard,” Jensen said a little less gruffly when suddenly the slim shoulders hunched over, started shaking and the guy puked his guts up all over Jensen.  
 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A man fresh from the war ends up trying to help a stranger who needs to convince his family to accept his sexual orientation.  Set in Napa Valley, of course, as the film was, but taken to present day USA. And that, of course, is only one of many liberties I am having to take with the storyline.

_**No White Clouds 1/? - Jensen/Misha in 'A Walk In The Clouds'**_  
 **Disclaimer:** These are SO not Jensen, Misha, Jared, etc., but totally fictitious characters. Which I don't own. As I don't own A Walk In The Clouds. But I borrow them with tender care. Title taken from the Strange Fruit song used in the movie Strange Days, which this way ended up on the list as the next movie to be retold. *sighs* My mind is weird that way.  
 **Rating:** NC-17  
 **Genre:** slash, RPS by a stretch of the imagination  
 **Word Count:** ~1154 so far  
 **Characters/Pairings:** Jensen Sutton/Misha Aragon, Jared Alvarez, Don Jeffrey Dean Aragon  
 **Warnings:** nothing yet, but coming up: kink, slash, language, booze, the lot.  
 **Summary:** A man fresh from the war ends up trying to help a stranger who needs to convince his family to accept his sexual orientation.  Set in Napa Valley, of course, as the film was, but taken to present day USA. And that, of course, is only one of many liberties I am having to take with the storyline.

He had pulled up at a godforsaken spot on the road, told blue eyes that this was sufficiently close to his destination and that since he had hurled all over Jensen, Jensen was his problem now.  
And then he drove away into the setting sun.  
“I sometimes… I sometimes lose my lunch on buses, you know. Get travel sick. Especially when I’m nervous. Can I… can I help clean this up?”  
“With what? Leaves?” Jensen snarked.  
Blue eyes winced and Jensen felt like a jerk. Wasn’t the guys fault, really. Accidents happen. Smelly, awful, embarrassing and damned inconvenient accidents…. Shit.  
Jensen grabbed his duffel.  
Nothing to do but change clothes. And see if he maybe had packed a plastic bag for the… pukeage.  
Man, but he stank.

Jensen walked out from behind the trees in his fucking dress uniform, feeling like a dork.  
He had been supposed to be home the next day, so he hadn’t packed a spare pair of pants.  
“Okay, where’s the next settlement?” he asked, trying to take charge of the situation, more out of habit than from any actual idea of what on earth was supposed to happen now at all.  
“My parents’ vineyard, La Nube Blanca – the white cloud - is maybe two miles that way,” blue eyes said, gesticulating vaguely due South. “The nearest town is Aetna Springs. About 3 miles the other way.”  
“I’m Misha, by the way. Misha Aragon.” He held out a nicely shaped hand to Jensen and looked up at him with that head tilt that Jensen had learned to expect whenever Misha expected feedback, encouragement or at least a human reaction.  
He took Misha’s hand in a firm grip and shook it. “Jensen Sutton.”

Misha sat on his suitcase, looking nervous and oddly like a boy shirking some unpleasant duty.  
“So, you just gonna sit here, until…?”  
“Until I find a way to turn this into not the day that I either lose my family or get dragged screaming and kicking to a shotgun wedding with Anna Alvarez, only it’d be my folks holding me at gunpoint.”  
“What are you more worried about,” Jensen asked and ran his hand through his hair. He settled on a fallen tree opposite Misha.  
“The shotgun wedding,” Misha snorted out with a laugh. “I’m sure I could manage to at least see my mom and my grandparents occasionally, even if my father… Well, my father is difficult. To say the least.”

“I think that wouldn’t be too hard to achieve,” said Jensen, wondering why he was so keen on being helpful all of a sudden. Well, okay, Misha was nice, in this hapless, chaotic and slightly off kind of way and anyway, it wasn’t exactly like Jensen had anything better to do, really. And Misha was also kind of hot, in pretty much the same way as he was nice.  
Jensen recoiled a little at the thought, since he hadn’t really been drawn to guys anymore since that bit of experimentation in college. It was unexpected, to say the least.  
“All you’d have to do would be show up at your parents’ house with a hunk in tow, pretending that the two of you are living with each other. Maybe even that you’ve, you know, done the marriage thing with him.”  
“Well, lucky for me, then, that the resident hunk chose this particular moment to dump me. I’ve been de-hunked.” Misha said, voice light and jokey, but eyes serious.

Misha kicked up dust and pebbles, pointedly not looking at Jensen. He took a deep breath and said softly: “You’re a hunk, you know.”  
And then he fell silent, still not looking at anything except the dirt road and maybe Jensen’s dress uniform shoes.  
Jensen groaned inwardly. He was so not going to say that. But then he went and did it anyway.  
“Well, since I’m, you know… here… and have nothing much to do, anyways… well, you know, I could pretend to be…”  
Misha looked up. His eyes were kind of glowing as he beamed a huge smile at Jensen.  
“And you wear a uniform. My dad is totally not going to try to kill a man who knows how to fire a gun, I’m sure.”

They were walking in the general direction of La Nube Blanca. Misha was giving Jensen the ‘for dummies’ version of his life. Jensen was listening with great concentration, trying to memorize as many facts as he could. Birthday, schooling, favourite food and so on and so forth. Misha was rattling off factoid after factoid, as if his life depended on it.  
They had reached the vineyard and were walking along the tidy rows of growing vine, grapes glowing in the sun.  
Suddenly, a shot rang out.  
Jensen acted on pure instinct. Force of habit made him grab Misha on his way down, as he would’ve grabbed one of the raw recruits they had kept sending him in Iraq.  
They were laying flat on the ground, when two pairs of booted feet appeared before them.

“Hello father,” Misha said in a strained voice.  
“Misha.” Came a terse answer.  
Jensen got up and dusted off his uniform. This was most definitely not the first impression he had wanted to make.  
“Sorry about that, Misha, guess my head’s still kinda stuck in Iraq,” he whispered apologetically.  
Misha was pale and just shook his head at Jensen, who took it to mean that it didn’t really matter, things would go to hell in a second, anyway.  
“Father, please meet Jensen Sutton, my significant other.”  
And things went to hell.

Jensen was glad he didn’t speak Spanish.  
To say Misha’s father was livid would have been the understatement of the year. The man was yelling at the top of his voice in rapid-fire Spanish, looking fit to burst an aneurism any minute now.  
In between he was making angry, impatient shooing motions and drove the two of them towards the house.  
Misha was still ghostly pale and Jensen wondered briefly if he would throw up again. Surreptitiously, he tried to stay a step behind Misha to be out of the hurling field. Misha turned and gave him an absurdly grateful look. Jensen thought the other man probably believed that he was being protective of Misha, not of the last clean outfit at his disposal.

There were several people gathering in the entrance hall of La Nube Blanca, two women were running towards Misha, showering him with kisses, while casting worried glances at the still yelling father.  
An old man walked over to Jensen, held out his hand and said: “I am Misha’s grandpa, Pedro Aragon. Welcome on La Nube Blanca.”  
“Jensen Sutton, sir, pleased to make your acquaintance. I, uh, I am Misha’s partner.”  
“Mr. Sutton, that briefcase of yours, might that be the Godiva logo on it,” the old man asked with a sly, mischievous grin.  
“Uh, yes sir, that’s right. I am a sales representative for Godiva chocolates. Would you like to try some?”  
The old man’s grin deepened, as he stuffed two pralines into his mouth. He walked off moaning ecstatically.

Misha somehow managed to introduce Jensen to his mother and grandmother amidst the continued yelling of his father.  
The two women then simply ushered them into the big kitchen and left the master of the house to his tantrum.  
“You must understand, Misha, your father wants the family line continued. He needs to see that he will have an heir who is of the blood.”  
“I’m not a horse, mama. I marry who I love, not who gets chosen for me because of bloodlines and family ties. And I married Jensen. End of story. Let my brother produce an heir. I mean, why does it have to be me in the first place?”  
The women just looked at each other.  
Misha’s grandmother then said: “You will want to clean yourselves up a little before dinner, I suppose. Misha, show Jensen where he can do that.”

Dinner was announced with a gong and started at 8 pm sharp.  
“It’s pumpkin flower soup. It’s a specialty of my grandmother’s.” Misha said quietly to Jensen.  
“It’s delicious.”  
“It’s been in our family cookbook since before your Declaration of Independence.” His father interjected acidly.  
Don Jeffrey Aragon wiped his lips carefully with the napkin and took a sip of wine. Then he said: “So, where do you come from?”  
“Richardson, Texas.”  
“Wherever that is,” snarled Misha’s father.   
Nope, Jensen wasn’t earning any Brownie points there.  
Misha’s grandmother, however, smiled softly at Jensen, obviously trying to make up for the harsh words.  
“And your parents, Jensen, do they still live there?”  
“I never knew my parents.”  
“And who brought you up? The fairies?” That, again, from Misha’s father.  
“I was brought up in a children’s home. A state-run orphanage.”  
“My son can trace his bloodlines back for centuries. And now my son wants to live with a man with no past? A man with no past and no future!”  
Misha’s father looked Jensen over with nothing but contempt in his eyes. Apparently, the man might’ve been inclined to be much more lenient, had Misha settled for a partner with an appropriate background.  
Jensen abruptly excused himself and left the dining room.

He was pacing angrily outside the house, berating himself for ever allowing Misha to draw him into this farce. Misha slowly walked towards him, looking uncertain.  
Jensen snorted a laugh and said: “He doesn’t pull any punches, does he?”  
Misha shook his head and his face looked pinched.  
“You know, every night when I was a kid, I would go up the roof of the orphanage and would make a wish on every star that I could see.”  
"That’s a lot of wishes. What did you wish for?"  
“What you have. A family, a past and a future.”  
Jensen shrugged, trying to make light of the stuff he had shared so willingly with a total stranger.  
“It’s only another 8 hours and I will be on the road. I think the worst part’s over, don’t you?”  
That’s what Jensen really thought until Misha’s mother showed them to THEIR room.


End file.
